


Quality Time

by Zabbie



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics), Justice League - All Media Types, Red Robin (Comics), Teen Titans (Comics), Young Justice (Comics), Young Justice - All Media Types
Genre: Character Study, Crack Treated Seriously, Introverts, Just Sibling Things, M/M, Neurodivergent Tim Drake, Self-Indulgent, Sibling Bonding, Sibling Rivalry, Tim Drake is Bad at Self-Care, Tim Drake-centric, a lil timkon cameo, batfam, crackfic, i think theyre neat, im posting most of these absolutely raw, jason todd wants to be a good brother okay they got brunch once, lets be honest though its gonna be gay, lets face it most if not all of batfam has to be neurodivergent, me too though, my friend and i have headcanons and i need to make them known, siblings bothering eachother, so hope theyre arent typos, steph appreciation squad, thats a tag wow, they def best friends idk how gay im gonna make it, tim drake take care of yourself pls
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-13
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:40:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28496958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zabbie/pseuds/Zabbie
Summary: Tim Drake wants nothing more than to spend his very little free time alone in his room so he can stay up until 4 am and get his work done and drink day old coffee. His ragtag family of bats have other ideas.//Basically a character study of all the different members of batfam bothering Tim in his natural habitat the way siblings tend to do. Each interaction is broken up into oneshots for each character so they can be read alone or linear.
Relationships: Cassandra Cain & Tim Drake & Dick Grayson & Duke Thomas & Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne & Damian Wayne, Stephanie Brown & Cassandra Cain & Tim Drake & Barbara Gordon & Dick Grayson & Jason T. & Damian W., Tim Drake & Alfred Pennyworth, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson & Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne & Damian Wayne, Tim Drake & Kon-El | Conner Kent, Tim Drake/Kon-El | Conner Kent
Comments: 3
Kudos: 104





	1. Prologue: Tim's room

**Author's Note:**

> I know this is short but I'm ridiculous and needed 518 words to basically tell Tim Drake: "damn bitch you live like this?" It's me. It's me he lives like.  
> First chapter is just to set the scene,,  
> A lot of the following scenarios will be based off actual interactions I've had with my sibling. 
> 
> Title is taken from the love language quality time.

Tim slouched against his bed’s headboard and squinted at the bright laptop screen in front of him. He sat, legs out over the crumpled comforter, socked feet tucked under a throw blanket that had been kicked to the end of the bed. With him sitting like this, spine bent and eyes straining at the harsh blue glow of a computer screen, no one would think this sleep deprived teen was Gotham’s Red Robin, leading a team of fellow young heroes with militant posture and a gaze that could spot a villain on the streets 20 feet away in the dark. Or that this same Tim was Wayne Enterprise’s CEO Timothy Drake-Wayne, attending meetings with those twice or three times his age and fundraising events with poise and a confidence that spoke of “having one’s shit together.”

No. The bedroom that Tim sat in, warm glow of golden hour dripping yellow through the half-slanted blinds, did not speak to either of these personas. This was the room of Tim Drake in his truest form. Clothes that weren't pushed to the end of the bed had found their way to the floor, perhaps optimistically appearing to lead in some way to a laundry basket shoved in the corner. The only light in the room besides what came from the window and Tim’s laptop screen purred from two desktop monitors on his cluttered desk, a humble amount considering the numerous computers he was used to having access to in the bat cave or titan tower. More dirty clothes piled upon a desk chair seemed to offer explanation as to why Tim was working on his bed rather than at said desk.

He squinted once more as he continued to type, so lost in his work he hadn’t realized the darkness his room had begun to slip into as the sun retreated down the city’s inky skyscrapers beyond the Wayne Estate. Tim lifted his elbows back, arching his back and stretching until he heard a satisfying crack and pop of joints settling, groaning as he exhaled through his nose. _Coffee_. He reached to the side table littered with receipts and coded case files, stretching his calloused fingers to grasp a mostly empty to-go cup. He brought it to his chapped lips. _Cold_. He grimaced, tearing his gaze from his screen to cast a quick glance to the several other to-go cups around the room like a bad game of eye-spy. Two on the desk, two on the dresser. No three. One was knocked over. Probably empty. Hopefully.

_….Probably._

His eyes darted to the door. To the window. The sky’s golden glow slowly turning to a purple hue. The digital clock quietly blinking 6:45pm. Back to the cup in his hand. He really didn’t want to leave to get more. He took another bitter sip. _Just pretend it’s iced coffee._ Sure. At least his family was mostly leaving him alone. He really wanted to finish this case and get those new WE reports in so he could hang at Titan Tower for once.

He spoke too soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again I know it's short!!! but don't you worry my little babushka im gonna post as much as I can as fast as i can we gonna get this done-
> 
> The first batfam member up is damian!!  
> choose your fighter.


	2. Damian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Damian bothers Tim.
> 
> That's it thats the premise.  
> Damian wants attention okay.

Tim’s legs were going numb from sitting too long. That slightly concerning kind of numb where you think “oh damn, I should probably move soon before my body thinks I’m 85 years old and I never move again.” He didn’t move. He would. In a few minutes. He was so engrossed with his computer screen it took him almost a full minute to realize that the little green nightmare had been standing in the doorway. Sloppy of him. Tim tried not to visibly flinch in surprise.

“What do you want Damian. I’m busy.”

Damian scoffed, “You are not important enough to be busy, Drake” he replied, narrowing his eyes.

“I wish that were true,” Tim muttered under his breath.

Tim continued to type on his computer, waiting for Damian to leave. He didn’t.

Tim raised an eyebrow. “Did you… need something?”

Damian just attempted to narrow his gaze further almost squeezing his eyes shut. “I would never need anything from someone who is inferior to me.”

Tim rolled his eyes. As endearing as Damian’s rude and incredibly misguided bouts for attention were, he really was not in the mood.

“Well then do you _want_ anything?” The conversation had come full circle in the awkward fashion interactions between the two boys tended to go- when they weren’t physically at each other’s throats.

When Damian failed to reply Tim took a moment to glance up from his laptop screen. Damian always was quick with a biting remark, but at the moment he was biting the inside of his cheek instead, weight shifting from foot to foot as his eyes darted around the room.

“Your posters are stupid,” was all Damian said.

Tim glanced at the Wendy the Werewolf Stalker poster Damian seemed to be referring to, surrounded by other photos, difficult to tell which were photos with young justice and his family from over the years and which were case photos he had pinned to the wall to study.

“Uh thanks?” Tim looked back at Damian with a raised eyebrow, “That all?”

Damian paused again to look for something else to critique. “You should clean up your trash.”

“Okay…”

Was Damian just… genuinely _bored_? Maybe even lonely? Was interacting with Tim really his last resort? Damn. Times really were tough, huh? Maybe if he ignored him he would go away. Tim went back to typing away at his report, doing his best not to think about Damian’s presence in the room. Damian continued to look around, taking a step towards one of Tim’s dressers to look at the haphazard items piled on top of it.

It made Tim anxious. Not for any particular reason, mind you, he just- didn’t like people looking through his stuff. Especially if that person was a pint-sized assassin. He didn’t have anything weird or worth hiding on his dresser but still that stuff was _his_. It was unsettling, okay?

Tim didn’t want to let on that it was bothering him, but Damian still had yet to say anything. Maybe he was waiting for Tim to start the conversation? Either way Tim was losing time and _now_ precious focus. It would get harder and harder to stay on track.

Tim tried to keep the annoyance out of his face when he asked “How’s Jon?”

He even smiled. Not a great smile but a smile- it was there, teeth were showing, corners of the mouth were definitely up there, ya know, a smile.

“Fine.”

Tim’s eye twitched. ‘Fine.’ Great. Good to know. Cool. Scintillating conversation. Absolutely _fascinating_. Holy shit would he just leave already and stOP- “Can you stop touching my stuff?”

It had slipped out. Annoyed and tired.

And Damian did actually stop for a moment, stilling his fingers to look over at Tim’s upright form, his green eyes glittering like the edge of a blade with what could just barely pass for amusement. Tim forced himself to look away and go back to typing hoping desperately Damian hadn’t noticed how much he’d gotten under his skin in just a few short moments.

But he wasn’t really looking at the screen, and he caught Damian’s fingers slowly reaching for something on the dresser out of the corner of his eye. “Damian….” Tim said in a warning tone. As if Damian would ever take one of Tim’s threats seriously. The hand movement didn’t stop.

“Damian… I swear to god leave my shit alone I don’t have time for- DAMIAN!” But Damian had run out of the room, grabbing some random item from the dresser.

“Damian put that back!” Tim attempted to disentangle himself from the position he’d been sitting in for who knows how many hours.

“DAMIAN WHAT DID YOU TAKE COME BACK HERE BRAT!”

He stumbled on his way to the door, legs cramping from sitting so long, but then after limping a few steps he was up and out his bedroom door at top speed. Running and shouting could be heard down the hallway, expletives bouncing off the manor’s high ceilings.

Tim’s computer screen continued to glow in the now empty room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Damian didn't even take anything important he took like a random tiny rubber toy dinosaur Tim doesn't even care about or something but GOD when your sibling takes something from your room it is so annoying WHY DO THEY WANT IT.  
> Me? projecting? absolutely never.  
> Tim needed to move tbh and Alfred gave them both a lecture afterword about running in the manor and bad language. 
> 
> Dick is next!!


	3. Dick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Grayssssssoooon timeeeee. Gotham's golden boy. He just wants the hot goss Tim tell your brother the tea. 
> 
> Also wow lmao I really did say "add in a lil timkon just because." So it truly did only take me three chapters to make it gay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also sorry if theres an extra note at the end? The one for the first chapter got added to the second and I'm not sure how to fix it [UPDATE: i fixed it]

Tim was sitting on his bed, again, eyes glued to his laptop screen, blinds drawn to avoid as much light as possible. He wanted his blackout curtains back, but Alfred had taken those. “Unhealthy,” He’d called them. Some generic candle burned on the bedside table to offer a dim glow. It smelled nice. Like lavender and the beach. Like relaxing. Like something Tim didn’t really do. He liked it. That and it helped to make it so the room wasn’t _completely_ dark.

Tim liked to keep his room dark while working so he could get lost in a timeless stream of work. It helped him focus- seeing the passage of time through his window could be distracting. Something about it made him all too aware that there was never enough time. Made him feel anxious, like he had a deadline and he’d never meet it. Which I mean, in this case, he _did_ have a deadline. This paper on post-modernism had to be done before Wednesday or he’d have a real headache.

People always assumed Tim was a top student, and he was- in a sense. He got good grades but that was mostly on merit and test scores alone. Tim skipped more classes than he could count, not that it really mattered, he was already a CEO and even that felt like just a cover compared to the work he did as Red Robin. Still, Bruce had brought up that while dropping out of high school may work okay for a Wayne if it was to pursue the CEO thing, it would not look good for a Wayne that was _already_ a CEO to fail several classes- even if they were elective courses picked up for appearances sake.

Stupid. Absolutely Stupid. But tabloids were annoying, and the last thing Tim wanted was to be paraded around as being publicly academically inept when he wasn’t. Besides, he knew that academia was mostly a bullshit measuring system of intelligence anyway. But still, though he wouldn’t admit it, it would hurt his pride. And Jason would find a way to make his life hell about it, so- paper.

He stretched his toes until he heard a series of cracks and then carefully cracked his knuckles finger by finger thoughtfully. He was getting tired of typing the name Edvard Munch. His eyes found their way to the window once more, though still obscured by the blinds, and took a deep breathe in of the candle-scented air, huffing out through his nose. He blinked. He couldn’t tell what time of day it was, which, ya know, kind of the point of the blinds- and he didn’t check his clock.

Better the blinds were closed.

The light from the sun would distract him, sure, but it’d also make him think of… his friends. In general. Definitely all of his friends as a unit. Not one particular friend that had a connection to the sun. That would be ridiculous. Without realizing it Tim’s eyebrows had drawn together in what to anyone else would seem a deeply thoughtful expression. He breathed through his nose again and shook out his shoulders, allowing himself to sink comfortably against the headboard and settle into the warm hoodie he was wearing.

He was ready to begin typing again when there was a soft knock on his door. Not too soft though. A crisp knock. polite. Tim’s head fell back so he could roll his eyes at the ceiling. He was never gonna get this done. “Occupied!” He called out, as if that would help.

The door cracked open anyway and Tim groaned in defeat, squinting at the figure in the doorway silhouetted by the hall light beyond. From its depths came the voice of Dick Grayson, laced with confusion.

“This isn’t? A bathroom?” and then doubt, “This isn’t a bathroom right? We didn’t add another bathroom did we? I am in fact standing in your bedroom?”

Tim gave his reply completely deadpanned, “Ah yes welcome to my bathroom it is vast and egregiously superfluous hence the ridiculous square footage and _literal bed_.”

Tim was pretty sure Dick was scowling as he kicked aside clothing and boots that littered the floor and, to Tim’s annoyance, fumbled for the light switch.

“Well _soooorry_ oh baby brother of mine, I couldn’t really-ah!” He’d found the switch and flicked it on, “see the room,” Dick finished with a smug and good-natured smile.

Tim cursed as brightness flooded the room. So much for his carefully crafted work environment. He squinted as his eyes adjusted and gestured toward his bedside table, “Hey I lit a candle give me some credit.”

Dick glanced at it and made a face. “Ah yes Timothy, and as much as you know I love a good bath and bodyworks moment you _do_ know what century it is right?”

Dick continued to make a show of dodging around clothes and clutter on the floor on his way over to Tim’s bed, being way too dramatic about it.

“Is it the one where you leave me alone?” Tim asked, raising his eyebrows quizzically.

Okay, so maybe that was meaner than necessary, but Tim really was busy. Dick pouted at that and finally gingerly sat on the edge of Tim’s bed. Looking like the cross between a kicked puppy and a mom that definitely will _not_ leave you alone, no matter the century. “You should be kinder to your elders,” Dick scolded, “Where’s that Timmy that wanted to be a robin so bad and thought big brother dick was the coolest ever.”

Tim gave him a look but could feel his face warming in embarrassment. “I did not ‘think you were the coolest ever’ geesh.”

“Oh that’s right,” Dick replied with a smirk, “You thought Jason was the cool one.”

God that was even more embarrassing. They’d really never let him forget that Jason was the Robin he’d settled all his hopes and dreams of child-like wonder and crime-fighting on. Jason certainly wouldn’t, _the prick_ … but Dick too? Come on man. “Okay Mr. Lime green tighty-whities,” Tim said crossing his arms, “Did you actually come in here for a reason or just to bother me?”

Dick laughed. “Wow, ouch there babybird, don’t you wanna catch up with ole’ Dickie?”

“Babybird? Still? What about Damian?”

“Oh don’t worry little one,” Dick said, leaning over to ruffle Tim’s hair, “You’ll always be a baby bird to me, no matter how many baby birds there are.”

“Right…” Was all Tim offered back, lowering an amused eyebrow to glance over what he’d already written for his paper. He knew that he wouldn’t get any writing done with Dick in the room, but maybe he could still proofread. There was silence for a few moments before Dick broke it with a slow conspiratorial tone.”Sooooo…” He said looking at Tim pointedly.

Tim looked back, suddenly nervous for some reason. “Sooo...?” He replied.

“Anything you want to tell me?” Dick said, pressing his lips together and raising his eyebrows.

“I don’t… think so?” and he didn’t. He had no idea what in the world Dick could possibly want him to tell him.

“Nothing?” Dick pressed, clearly hoping for more. He was sprawled out on the bed now, hand clasped on his chest, looking up at Tim, his eyes practically _oozing_ the words ‘safe space.’ But safe for what??

“Yeah uh… pretty sure I’m good Dick,” Tim said cautiously. Dick let out an annoyed huff, clearly disappointed. “Gosh you’re never any fun,” he pouted, stretching out and tugging at Tim’s socks.

“Stop that.” Tim shook his foot to get Dick’s hand away. Dick let out a little laugh when he tugged at the socks again but then was sure to go back to his guilt-tripping, oh-poor-neglected-big-brother routine. “Don’t you want to confide in me? Talk to me about girls…?”

“Not really.” Tim snorted.

“… talk to me about boys…?” Dick asked casually, slowly still tugging at a sock but glancing at Tim out of the corner of his eye.

“NopE.” Tim said a little too quickly, his face a little too blank as he was suddenly very interested in reading a sentence of his paper five times without actually seeing the words. Unfortunately, a poker face can be its own tell. Maybe Dick hadn’t caught it. He’d stopped tugging on Tim’s sock. _Shit_.

“Hmmmm…? What was that Tim?” Dick was very still.

“Hm? Nothing. I said nope. I’m good.” Tim said making sure his voice was perfectly even. If this was a cartoon a bead of sweat would be traveling down his forehead. He didn’t have anything to talk about. He really didn’t. He _really_ didn’t.

Even without looking Tim could practically feel the smile that spread onto Dick’s face as he suddenly flipped onto his stomach. “Oh so a boy then!!” Dick said excitedly.

“No, I said no. I said nope. I distinctly remember saying no,” Tim refused to make eye contact as he willed his voice not to crack or raise an octave. He was a master of disguise. He’d gone undercover many a time. He could lie to himself and Dick Grayson. Or not, because Dick was shaking his head as Tim spoke. “Ah ah ah… me thinks the birdie doth protest too much.” Dick reached up to poke at Tim’s side. He squirmed, feeling hot and uncomfortable with embarrassment. “Who is it?” Dick pressed.

“Who is what?”

“Who do you liiiiike?”

“I like lots of people.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Can’t say I do.”

Dick chewed his thumb thoughtfully. “You know lot’s of people but aren’t close with a lot so that should narrow it down.”

“Stop that. I am not a case.”

“Aha!” Dick snapped his fingers and slammed his fist into his palm. “Is it someone from your team?”

Tim was wondering if Dick was actually related to the Kent’s with how his eyes were shooting laser vision right at his face. The face he was definitely keeping straight and passive. His not red face. His serious face. Don’t think about the Kents. “I’ll kill you. And I’ll make it look like a bloody accident.”

“You wouldn’t. I’m your favorite.”

“You’re not my favorite”

“I’m everyone’s favorite.”

“Dick I don’t know how to tell you this but I don’t think you're anyone’s favorite.”

Dick sat up, raising a finger to make a point, “I’m sure at least Bruce would-”

“Cass” Tim immediately cut him off.

Dick closed his mouth with a pop, and… oops. He looked genuinely hurt by that. Tim rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “Hey I’m sorry Dick I don’t mean it like that…” but Dick was muttering under his breathe.

“I’m not anyone’s favorite? Not even one? But I thought…”

“Oh come on Dick don’t be like that…” He glanced at his unfinished paper and then back at his now clearly upset predecessor. He sighed and blew out the candle nearby. _Fuck my grade I guess_ , he thought to himself, before pushing the laptop aside and kicking his feet out to shift over on the bed and sit next to Dick. “The reason you're not any one person’s number one is because you're every single one of our’s number two, which is statistically better because it means you're consistently like-able across the board, okay?”

Dick gave him a sour look, “Are you seriously trying to advertise being a second choice as a good thing?”

Tim shrugged, “Listen I don’t make the rules. You’re great Dick but you’re too much like a mom to be number one.”

“A mom? I’m not even thirty!”

Tim shook his head. “It’s your energy Grayson. You just sat on my bed and badgered me to tell you about my day. Mom.”

“I can’t believe I came to seek bonding with my sweet little Timothy and all I’ve gotten is backhanded insults and no actual info about your current life events.” Tim rolled his eyes, standing up and stretching. “Okay drama queen, let’s go get ice cream and we can catch up on some things. Will that cheer you up?”

Dick stood up and threw his arm around Tim’s shoulders “So we can talk about who you-”

“We can talk about subjects of my choosing,” Tim cut him off right away.

Dick pouted but nodded as they headed toward the door and down the stairs, Tim complaining about the paper he was now abandoning. Dick smiled secretly to himself as Tim talked. Operation get this bird out of his nest? Succeeded with flying colors.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhh I hope you liked it!! I know it's longer than the first two which I hope is a good thing I was kind of on a roll... and also started ranting about academia. Also I wrote this in my dark room with a candle on cause im projecting dont worry about it.
> 
> comments are always appreciated <3
> 
> Jason is nexttt and I can't wait.


	4. Jason

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I love Jason so much and I wanted to write how truly awkward he can be cause he's such a dork I don't care how many heads he's stuffed in a bag.  
> Also I just really love Tim and Jason's dynamic so yeah maybe this is the longest chapter so far oops. 
> 
> When your bro makes you clean your room am i right fellas.

Schematics, wires and various tools surrounded Tim in a circle on the floor where he sat hunched over the prototype for some new tech he wanted for his red robin suit. Hopefully it would allow him to work better in tandem with his meta teammates, enhancing their abilities and adjusting the other settings of his suit to be more compatible with each person in a second by second scenario.

So far he had it working to a minute by minute scenario, but that just wasn’t fast enough for the hyper-paced environment of an actual fight. He could get it to work faster though, he knew he could, and it was gonna be so fuckin’ sick when he did.

He’d already gotten lots of helpful info from working with his teammates one on one and he was really grateful. Tim fumbled with an extremely tiny screwdriver and chewed on his lip in thought. He might ask Conner to swing by so he could run some more tests, though Bruce was still very much “no metas in Gotham grrrr angry face emoji I don’t have powers but have a 10 foot bat-pole up my ass.” Tim blew some hair out of his face with a puff. Might ask Conner to come anyway, he really wanted this new tech to be perfect.

He was so focused on the intricate assemblage of his personal project he didn’t even hear Jason enter the room, and almost dropped the delicate circuitry attached to his gauntlet when he heard the man say, a little too loudly, “SUP TWINKMEAT.”

Tim choked as he caught the supplies, “What?” He blinked, “What the fuck does that even mean??” His face contorted in a blend of confusion and disgust.

Jason just shrugged, “I dunno, just felt like saying it I guess.”

Now Tim’s face held less confusion and more just general disdain. “I think I prefer replacement.”

Jason looked off to the side and shrugged again, also screwing up his face, “Yeah maybe it does sound a lil gross.”

Tim merely hummed and went back to finish tightening a tricky piece he didn’t want to lose progress on. Jason stood awkwardly in the silence. Tim gave him a quick glance through the dark hair that hung in front of his eyes, subtle and vaguely curious. It was easy to see that Jason looked a little lost, maybe even constipated? He didn’t seem to know where to shift his weight or put his hands.

Jason opened and closed his mouth a few times, “Working on stuff?” He offered up lamely.

Tim raised an eyebrow. “Yup.” was all he offered back, letting the word end with a pop as he continued to work.

“Cool cool…” Jason’s hands were stuffed into his jacket pockets. That conversation seeming like a dead-end Jason let his eyes wander around the room.

Tim concluded that Jason’s presence could most likely be explained by some strange sudden sense of responsibility or guilt that made Jason think he had to try and be brother of the year or something. Or at least a brother of some kind. Which Tim… appreciated, he did, but… It was kind of weird as hell, and to be honest he was just happy he wasn’t beating the shit out of him anymore… right now…

As Tim thought this and worked it gave Jason time to not just aimlessly look around the room but to actually process what a shit storm it was. His posture suddenly straightened and he crossed his arms in front of his chest, tilting his head to the side. “Bitch you live like this?”

Tim looked up from his work at his predecessor before also glancing around. Jason’s ‘this’ had been in reference to a cacophony of mess, including the unmade bed covered in dirty laundry, comics and magazines as well as the desk area covered in half empty bags of chips and definitely empty coffee cups (who knows how many crumbs had found their way into his keyboard.)

A sock hung off a computer monitor. His eyes trailed down to the desk chair also covered in dirty laundry and a few comics balanced precariously at the mountain’s peak. From the desk chair Tim’s eyes bounced to his side table which was, yes, also covered in trash. His head swung to his dressers, where none of the drawers were pushed all the way in and in more than one case had contents spilling out over the side, not to mention the miscellaneous selection of items crowding the tops of said dressers. He didn’t turn to look at his closet. He knew it was a wreck.

He cringed a little as he turned to look back at Jason, who was waiting for an answer. “I guess I didn’t realize?” Tim said, his voice going up in pitch as he spoke.

It was a little embarrassing, but he just got so focused on things that he didn’t always notice when his room got out of hand. Jason muttered something under his breathe. Tim suddenly felt defensive, “Listen it’s fine I mean, I know it’s not great but I don't mind it I’ll just clean it later.”

But Jason was shaking his head, “Oh no, yeah, that’s not gonna fly kid absolutely not. You wait right there.”

Tim sat lamely, muttering a small “not like I planned on going anywhere,” until Jason returned with a few trash bags in hand.

Tim groaned, “Come on Jason, really?”

“There’s no way you’re continuing to live like this.”

Tim made a face, “It’s not that bad…”

Jason held out one of the trash bags, “You have so many nice things Tim I am begging you to take care of them.”

And ah… duh. Even before knowing Bruce Tim’s parents had been well off, where as Jason… Jason didn’t have much growing up. And when that was the case you were grateful for what you had and took good care of it. It suddenly made a lot more sense why Jason’s apartment was so clean, why he took such good care of his guns. Tim just thought it was a gun guy thing. Maybe it was both.

Either way Tim suddenly felt a hot ball of shame in his gut. A sort of dumb rich kid’s guilt. But Jason just broke Tim out of is thoughts by shaking the trash bag again, under the impression he still needed some convincing, “You have enough empty coffee cups in here to be a conceptual art piece.”

Tim snorted a bit at that. “Yeah okay,” He relented, taking the trash bag and rolling his eyes only a little.

They set into a rhythm of cleaning the carnage of Tim’s living habits. Tim started by collecting the corpses of all his discarded coffee cups (among other take out containers and chip bags) and dispensing them into his bag, inwardly cringing at how quickly the bag got bulky. Maybe he had a _bit_ of a problem.

On the other side of Tim’s bed Jason was assessing the dirty laundry, trying to figure out what was dirty and what had just been thrown around. All were wrinkled. Jason tentatively lifted a shirt to his nose and sniffed, immediately making a sour expression and tossing it into Tim’s hamper across the room. He reluctantly gave some other articles of clothing the same treatment, scowling at most, and slightly confused at others. In the end he was tossing almost all the clothes in the hamper. Tim noticed and pulled a face as if he'd had his head shoved in a gym bag, “Ew stop sniffing my clothes you weirdo, that’s like, really gross.” his nose scrunched.

Jason stuck his tongue out but he seemed to come to the conclusion that, yeah, they should just wash _all_ the clothes. He threw a well-used sweatshirt at Tim’s head, “Then stop being stinky dumbass.”

Tim fumbled to catch the sweatshirt so it wouldn't whack him directly in the face. Maybe it did stink a little.

“Honestly,” Jason continued, holding up another sweatshirt to appraise it, “I don’t know how you’ve had any romantic relationships smellin’ like this.”

“As if yours go so well,” Tim quipped back, then muttering under his breathe, “and I _don’t_ smell bad…”

Jason, his back turned and folding, let out a sing-song, “I’m being nice today so I’m going to ignore that.”

On his own the mess would have probably taken Tim a few hours, taking into account not only it’s multitude but his own tendency to get distracted by things his mind was more interested in. Like a case, or the pet project that had been strewn across his floor, that they had since pushed against the wall in an organized fashion- a compromise Tim had had to bargain since he still wasn’t done working on it.

As it was, with the two of them working and Jason’s constant pokes to the ribs when Tim got distracted by something he’d been looking for forever, they were finishing up and making the bed in about 45 minutes. For the finishing touch Jason raised the blinds and opened the window a crack, allowing bright mid day sunlight and the sounds of the world outside to filter in.

Tim threw his arm over his eyes, “Come on Jason that’s a bit much.” His brows were furrowed again.

Jason just smirked at him and lightly flicked between his eyebrows, “Yeah genius, you gotta let this stale air filter out every once in a while.”

Tim rubbed between his eyes where Jason had flicked, one eye squeezed shut. “It’s Gotham. I’ll take the stale indoor air to smog and piss any day.” Jason just shrugged.

”Personally I love the smell of piss in the morning.”

Surveying their work and settling on satisfaction, Tim went back to sitting on the floor and began to pull his materials all around him again. Jason rolled his eyes from where’d he’d kicked back in Tim’s desk chair, his boots balanced precariously on Tim’s side table. A little time passed in not totally uncomfortable silence, Tim looking at the tiny details of his gauntlet's new wiring with an appraising eye, trying to see where he left off and what he could do more.

Only the muffled sounds of life beyond the cracked window, the sound of a screw being tightened or tools being switched out by Tim’s slender but calloused hands and the soft sounds of Jason shifting into a more comfortable position or thumbing through a few of the comics and diagrams that had been organized on Tim’s desk filled the space in those moments.

For the past thirty seconds Tim had picked up and put down the same piece of gadgetry without using it, like a mouth opening and closing in contemplation. His face screwed up in thought and he chewed on his lip. Eventually he sighed and rolled his neck. He shifted his sitting position around so he was facing Jason’s direction, who didn’t even glance his way.

“Um… thanks for making me clean… I guess,” Tim said, breaking the silence and fidgeting with one of the tiny screwdrivers.

Jason stared at Tim for a moment, as if he was processing that he was being thanked for something. He coughed awkwardly and his boots dragged off the side table, hitting the floor like sandbags. Jason bent over and leaned his elbows on his thighs, letting his arms hang heavy as he he didn’t make eye contact, “Yeah sure don’t mention it.”

It was kind of endearing to see him embarrassed Tim thought, like he was still that kid stealing tires of the bat-mobile instead of sticking heads in duffle bags. Jason continued, shaking off his embarrassment for the sake of a joke, “All of you Wayne brats suck at taking care of yourselves anyway.”

Tim took in Jason’s ruthful smirk thoughtfully, “You’re a Wayne brat too ya know…” He said softly.

That made Jason look away again, Tim left wondering what truths his eyes would tell. Jason cleared his throat. “If you say so,” was all he said. Tim also looked away, turning over the screwdriver in his hands.

Maybe it had been a little too much. Here they’d been actually acting like brothers? friends? _whatever_ for once; they’d been getting along to some degree, and Tim had gone and ruined the moment by being a little too sentimental. Typical. 

Jason made a clicking sound with his tongue and picked a loose thread on his pants. Tim bit his lip and calculated the risk of making a joke to clear the air. On the third spin of the screwdriver he settled on the conclusion that nothing could happen that was worse than any bodily harm his siblings had already attempted on him.

Tim leaned over and stretched his arm out to poke Jason’s thigh with the screwdriver, who twitched his leg back at the contact, “See? Emotionally constipated response. Total Wayne kid,” He said with a what he hoped was a conspiratorial wink. Winking was more of Dick’s thing.

Jason stared at him in confusion for a moment before snorting and reaching down to mess up Tim’s hair, who tried to retreat, “Hey!”

Jason stood heavily and stretched his arms and back out as Tim fixed his hair. At least Jason wasn’t being mopey anymore.

“Alriiiiiiight,” Jason groaned through a stretch, drawing the word out as if spending more than an hour with Tim was a full day’s work. “I’m gonna head out, Timbers.”

“Yeah, okay,” and Tim was surprised to find he was somewhat sad to lose the company as Jason walked to the door.

When he got there though he paused, turning to lean on the doorframe, his face hesitant, maybe even vulnerable. “You know, Tim…” He began awkwardly once again avoiding eye contact. Tim tilted his head, curious. “I just want you to know that…”

And as Jason finally made eye contact and Tim waited for him to continue, he thought that maybe he had said the right thing for once, maybe this big broken family would work out okay.

And then Jason let rip a truly impressive and cacophonous fart. And barked out a loud laugh. And for good measure threw out another “Later Twinkmeat” before walking out the door with an affectionate middle finger in the air.

Tim was left blinking in response for about two seconds before yelling at the empty doorway “WHAT THE FUCK, JASON?” But he was already gone.

Tim sighed and got up to light the candle he still had on his nightstand, face souring in his newfound knowledge Jason had had something totally rank for lunch. As Bart would say, “so not crash.” _I suppose we’re sticking to emotionally constipated then…_ he thought. He allowed himself a small smile. _And maybe also a little okay…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHHHHHH I hope you liked it this chapter feels like comfort to me idk i can't believe I'm saying that after starting it with "hey twinkmeat" but what are ya gonna doooooo
> 
> Anyway Steph is next


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